


We've become the walls we raise

by ember_firedrake



Series: Blockade [2]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow up to "Walls that lie between us."</p>
<p>  <i>He couldn't forget the things he'd done, in spite of Miles saying this was a fresh start for them. He couldn't forget it…because he did it for Miles. And without that, who was he?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	We've become the walls we raise

Three days into their venture, and Bass wasn't sure if it was going to turn out any differently from their past encounters. He'd admit, a small part of him felt a wistful nostalgia as they walked, everything they could carry slung in packs over their shoulders. It was almost like when they set out from Parris Island bound for Chicago. Except for the whole, you know, fifteen years during which they started a militia and tried to carve out a chunk of the continent before Miles decided he'd had enough and—Bass shook his head, Miles' words replaying in his mind. _We aren't the same people we were, Bass. We aren't the people we were six years ago and we sure as hell aren't the people we were six months ago._

Except he couldn't forget, could he? He couldn't say, "How's Ben? Oh wait, my men shot him when they tried to capture him. How's Rachel? You know, aside from the years of trauma she experienced while being interrogated by you and—oh yeah—me too. How's your niece? Never figured you for a family man, but then I guess part of me hoped I'd be family enough for you."

He couldn't say that. And he couldn't forget the things he'd done, in spite of Miles saying this was a fresh start for them. He couldn't forget it…because he did it for Miles. And without that, who was he?

Bass glanced over at Miles. He hadn't said much while they walked, intent on covering ground. The two of them fell back into patterns from their time in the Marines that they never really unlearned. Except, again, for the looming weight of everything that had happened since. 

Miles turned to look at him, and Bass realized he'd been staring for some time. Whatever Miles had intended to say was forgotten, as he gazed back in a way that set Bass' insides to fluttering. Bass wet his lips with his tongue, a gesture Miles noticed, if the way his eyes went dark was any indication. There was a promise for later in those eyes, and Bass allowed himself a private moment of triumph. 

It was short-lived, as doubts crept their way back in. Sooner or later Miles would realize too much stood between them, and would leave again. The thought made Bass' throat go tight. This _thing_ —this impasse, this truce—whatever it was between them, wouldn't last forever. Bass needed something to remember before he was alone once more.

They stopped to make camp for the night, Bass setting up the tent while Miles cooked. The fluttering had evolved into a pounding on the inside of Bass' chest, a tension in the air as he perfunctorily ate and simultaneously tried not to stare at Miles like he wanted to commit him to memory. Almost five years since Miles first put a gun to him, and this was the longest they'd been in each other's presence since then. A night spent together in a seedy room and three fucking days on the road. They hadn't done anything since, and it wore at Bass, making him wonder if that night was the only memory he would have to cherish once Miles left. 

Bass rose to his feet. He didn't know what he planned to do—if he wanted to pace the distant edges of their camp until well after Miles fell asleep—but a hand caught his wrist. Bass gave a start, looking at Miles' face illuminated by firelight. The grip on his wrist was firm, not painful, but it may has well have been a brand for the effect it had on Bass.

"What's going on, Bass?" Miles asked. The firelight danced, creating twin bright spots in those imploring eyes. "You've hardly said anything these past few days."

The reply caught in his throat. Bass couldn't say what he dreaded, that Miles would leave him, so instead he took action. Reaching down with his free hand, he brought their faces together in a brutal kiss. Miles' lips went pliant, but only for a moment before he surged to his feet, kissing back with a ferocity that stunned Bass. 

"Fuck," Bass said when they broke apart. He was pretty sure he'd reopened an old cut on his lip, if the copper tang on his tongue was anything to go by.

"When you didn't—when nothing else happened, I thought you regretted it," Miles said. "I thought you didn't want—"

"Wanted this," Bass cut him off with another kiss. "Wanted you. _Fuck_ , Miles, you have no idea."

It was the closest to an admission of truth he'd allow himself. Fortunately, Miles seemed happy to put talk for the moment behind them, as he pulled their bodies together. Bass could feel Miles through layers of clothing, and he desperately wanted those layers gone. He wanted Miles laid bare the way he felt every moment in the man's presence. But more than that, he wanted—

"I want you to fuck me."

Miles groaned into his neck, his hands grappling at Bass' clothing as he pushed them towards the tent. Bass helped, pulling at Miles' layers until they were both half-naked and stumbling at the tent flaps. " _Yes_. Whatever you want."

Whatever he wanted? Miles would leave even sooner if he knew what Bass really wanted. But right now, he wanted Miles inside him. In lieu of his selfish desires, he would settle for this. He shimmied out of his remaining clothes and turned over so he was on hands and knees, baring himself. He wanted Miles to fuck him. He wanted to feel it tomorrow, days from now. He wanted Miles to fuck him hard enough that he'd never forget it. He wanted it to _hurt_.

Miles let out a breath behind him, and Bass realized he'd said that last part aloud. He tilted his head, looking back. Miles' face was stricken. 

"Bass." It was almost a whisper. That combined with the weight of those dark eyes made Bass turn away, burying his face in his arms. He'd ruined it, somehow, him and his fucking mouth. He'd fucked it up, and now Miles didn't want him, _couldn't_ want him after seeing how fucked up he was. 

"Is that what you really want?" Miles continued, his tone careful. Bass tensed as one of Miles' hands rested on his back, thumb caressing slow circles. "You want it to hurt because—what—you think that's what you deserve? Bass…I don't want to hurt you. I think I've done that enough lately."

If Bass didn't know better, he'd think Miles sounded _guilty_. He couldn't see Miles' face to tell for sure, and he didn't want to check, too afraid of what he might find there. He _did_ deserve this, he deserved less than this…but he'd kept the sheer force of his self-loathing hidden from Miles for so long, and now his shields were cracking. He gritted his teeth, keeping his face pressed into his arms. 

"Bass," Miles said, moving his hand lower on Bass' back, finger lightly tracing the crease of his buttocks. _Yes_. That was more like it. Bass didn't want Miles' guilt or pity, he just wanted to be fucked. _Hard_. He hitched his hips up in encouragement, a low groan escaping his throat. 

"I want to make this good for you, Bass," Miles said. Bass was about to make a remark that Miles should get on that, because he felt a little self-conscious now with his ass in the air this long, when Miles' hands rested on the curve of his ass. His breath hitched as Miles caressed him, then those hands were gripping, holding his cheeks apart with insistent pressure and—

Bass gave a start at the first touch of Miles' tongue, warm and wet and hesitant. Part of his mind had derailed, unable to process what had just happened, when Miles licked him again, tongue dipping and teasing at sensitive skin. 

Something within Bass broke, shattered like so many fragments of his past life. Maybe it was the tenderness of the gesture, the insistent curl of Miles' tongue, or the fact that it was _Miles Matheson_ doing this to him. Miles, who had been his only family for most of his adult life. Miles, who had broken and remade Bass without even realizing it. Miles, who wanted to make this good for him.

Bass could feel tears hot and damp on his arm, but he couldn't let them show, already made vulnerable in more ways than one. Miles' tongue was more assured now, thrusting gently against him, _into_ him. Bass let out a whimper, unable to keep all his reactions restrained. He felt _wrecked_ , undone by kindness he didn't deserve. 

" _Miles_." The syllable escaped him, unbidden, transforming into a keen as Miles _rolled_ his tongue. Hands on Bass' hips held him firm as his knees threatened to give out completely. His cock, untouched, ached where it hung between his legs. 

And then Miles' tongue was gone, leaving Bass feeling bereft, disoriented. He shuddered on his hands and knees, hoping he didn't look as depraved as he felt. His hips twitched ineffectually. 

At the first touch of a slick finger against him, Bass let out an audible gasp. "What—where did you find—?"

"Tallow," Miles said by way of explanation, thrusting his finger slowly in and out. 

It was too much. Bass had expected it to hurt, he'd _wanted_ that. Or at least…he thought he wanted that. He'd wanted to prepare himself for further pain later by indulging his self-destructive side now. He'd wanted to make it easier on himself, when he was alone again. Only now…now Miles was treating him gently, working him open first with one, then two fingers. Miles said he didn't want to hurt Bass, and the worst part was it _didn't_ hurt. It didn't hurt at all. _I want to make this good for you_ , Miles had said.

Bass shuddered, going boneless as he finally let go of all the tension holding him in check. His sob was muffled, but Miles heard it, fingers going still as his free hand rested between Bass' shoulder blades.

" _Please_ …fuck—Miles, I need you. Please don't stop."

"Not going to stop," Miles said, leaning down so his breath was hot against the back of Bass' neck. "But I need you to understand. Believe me when I say that by my own will, I won't leave you again. Whatever happens, whatever's ahead of us, we will face it together."

Bass was trembling, overwrought by his own emotions and the tone of Miles' voice. He could only nod, not trusting his voice to speak.

Miles kissed the back of his neck, before he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the hard length of his cock. The passage was made easy by thorough preparation, but still Miles took his time, pressing forward in incremental thrusts until he was fully inside. Bass ached with the need to be touched, trying to thrust his hips back for stimulation. Miles held him still.

"I've done you a disservice, Bass," Miles murmured against his neck. "You think that you deserve punishment, when really, you deserve so much more. You deserve to be cared for…far better than I've treated you."

At that, Bass protested, surging up. "There's only enough room in this tent for one member of the self-loathing bastards club," he grated out. It was difficult to sound convincing when he wanted nothing more than all Miles was telling him. And when he had a cock up his ass.

Miles let out a low chuckle against his neck. "How about this, I won't fuck you until you agree to lay off the silent suffering routine. If either of us is worried about something, _we talk to each other_. And no more telling me to go at it dry because you feel like it's some kind of fucked-up penance. I mean, hell…I like it rough and all, but I don't want to actually cause you harm."

Bass sagged beneath him. Miles meant it, all of it. "Right," he said, breath coming in only somewhat labored. "I—ah—promise I'll talk to you from now on. Now will you please," he rolled his hips, " _please_ fuck me?"

Miles groaned, leaning over him fully as he thrust forward. One of Miles' hands closed over his, the other finally, _finally_ wrapping around his cock to begin jacking it in time with his thrusts. Bass cried out, so close already, finally letting go of restraint as he let himself _feel_. It was Miles' fingers twining with his, the intimacy of that gesture, that brought him to the edge. Bass shuddered, pulsing over Miles' hand as he murmured out a mantra of " _Miles…fuck..Milespleaseyessss._ "

Miles increased his pace, each stroke hitting deeper as he fucked Bass and still, it didn't hurt. Still Miles wanted this to feel good for Bass even as he attended to his own needs. Bass' nerves felt alight in a way that made him wish he could hard again this soon. Miles went tense, rhythm faltering as his passage was suddenly eased by his own release. 

" _Bass_ ," Miles breathed. There was a plaintive, desperate waver in his tone.

It was that undercurrent in Miles' voice that rocked Bass to his core. Miles was just as afraid of losing him. While part of that ought to seem frightening to him, Bass felt only clarity. As Miles sagged above him, Bass shifted, making space so they could lay together on the bedroll. 

Here they were, two grown men sharing a tent on the edge of nowhere, and only now able to admit to themselves that, while they _could_ live without he other (some more successfully), that was a life neither of them wanted. Bass could feel the night's chill setting in as he stared at the dim canvas stretched above him. He reached out, finding Miles' hand in the dark. 

"I'm not leaving either," Bass said.


End file.
